Legions of angels all in white advance; Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance; Pantomime figures then are brought to view, Fools, hand in hand with fools, go two by two. Next came the treasurer of either house; One with full purse, t'other with not a sous. 310 Behind, a group of figures awe create, Set off with all the impertinence of state; By lace and feather consecrate to fame, Expletive kings, and queens without a name. Here Havard,[23] all serene, in the same strains, Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs and complains; His easy vacant face proclaim'd a heart Which could not feel emotions, nor impart. With him came mighty Davies:[24] on my life, That Davies hath a very pretty wife! 320 Statesman all over, in plots famous grown, He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone. Next Holland[25] came: with truly tragic stalk, He creeps, he flies,--a hero should not walk. As if with Heaven he warr'd, his eager eyes Planted their batteries against the skies; Attitude, action, air, pause, start, sigh, groan, He borrow'd, and made use of as his own. By fortune thrown on any other stage, He might, perhaps, have pleased an easy age; 330 But now appears a copy, and no more, Of something better we have seen before. The actor who would build a solid fame, Must Imitation's servile arts disclaim; Act from himself, on his own bottom stand; I hate e'en Garrick thus at second-hand. Behind came King.[26]--Bred up in modest lore, Bashful and young, he sought Hibernia's shore; Hibernia, famed, 'bove every other grace, For matchless intrepidity of face. 340 From her his features caught the generous flame, And bid defiance to all sense of shame. Tutor'd by her all rivals to surpass, 'Mongst Drury's sons he comes, and shines in Brass. Lo, Yates[27]! Without the least finesse of art He gets applause--I wish he'd get his part. When hot Impatience is in full career, How vilely 'Hark ye! hark ye!' grates the ear; When active fancy from the brain is sent, And stands on tip-toe for some wish'd event, 350 I hate those careless blunders, which recall Suspended sense, and prove it fiction all. In characters of low and vulgar mould, Where Nature's coarsest features we behold; Where, destitute of every decent grace, Unmanner'd jests are blurted in your face, There Yates with justice strict attention draws, Acts truly from himself, and gains applause. But when, to please himself or charm his wife, He aims at something in politer life, 360 When, blindly thwarting Nature's stubborn plan, He treads the stage by way of gentleman, The clown, who no one touch of breeding knows, Looks like Tom Errand[28] dress'd in Clincher's clothes. Fond of his dress, fond of his person grown, Laugh'd at by all, and to himself unknown, Prom side to side he struts, he smiles, he prates, And seems to wonder what's become of Yates.